


Gentle Giant (Tranq x OC/Reader)

by Sk8er_Chica



Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 10:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sk8er_Chica/pseuds/Sk8er_Chica
Summary: Tranq comes home from work to find his old lady fighting the migraine from hell.





	Gentle Giant (Tranq x OC/Reader)

The distinctive purr of a Harley-Davidson sounded outside, announcing your old man’s arrival. You wanted to sit up and try to look somewhat human, but you didn’t want to risk face-planting into the carpet. A key rattled in the lock. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sudden intrusion of the afternoon sun.

“Y/N?” Heavy boots hit the floor in the entryway. “Y/N?”

“Hank?” you called from the couch.

You were curled into a ball of misery, wrapped in the fuzzy Elvis blanket Tranq had brought back from one of his Vegas runs. It had started earlier this morning as a dull ache in your neck, which you had initially written off as a kink from sleeping wrong. It had evolved into a steady throb on the right side of your head. The nausea hit while you were folding laundry. Other than a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t moved since.

Tranq crouched beside you, resting a hand on your side. “You’re having a bad one, aren’t you, _mami?_ ”

A sudden, stabbing pain made your right eye twitch involuntarily. You let out a soft whimper, a tear running down your cheek. You wrapped an arm around your middle as a new wave of nausea sloshed through it. Even though he couldn’t help his work schedule, much less predict your migraines, Tranq felt guilty that you’d been alone and sick all day.

“I’m here now,” Tranq tried to soothe you.

Tranq hated to leave you for even a second, but he had to if he was going to take care of you. He got an ice pack from the freezer and wrapped it in a kitchen towel. He put a straw in a can of your favorite juice, the kind Tranq could only find at the _supermercado_. Returning to the living room, Tranq handed you the ice pack, which you gratefully put on the back of your neck.

“Here’s a drink,” he said.

You opened your eyes enough to see the straw while he held the can. Your stomach twisted uneasily, but you managed to keep down the few tiny sips you took.

“Did you take your medicine?” asked Tranq.

“No,” you said miserably. “I’ve been so dizzy the last couple hours I’m too scared to move.”

Tranq found the prescription bottles on your bathroom sink and tipped two pills into his large palm, one for your headache and one to (he hoped) take away the nausea.

“Good, _mami,_ ” Tranq said after he helped you swallow them. “Do you wanna keep your head flat or do you need your _Pancita_ Pet?”

You had once told him that cuddling him was better than a Pillow Pet, which he had gently teased you about ever since. Honestly, Tranq was flattered by it. He’d been on the heavy side since childhood. He’d felt insecure when he was single, watching the girls at the clubhouse hang all over the slim, muscular bodies of his brothers. Tranq had been embarrassed to take his shirt off for the first time in front of you. He remembered the warmth in your eyes as you had caressed his torso the way he had seen other girls rub against Angel’s six-pack.

“I need you, Hank,” you said with a weak smile.

Tranq assisted you into a sitting position, being careful not to raise you too far too fast. He knew your migraines tended to be worse on the right, so he sat on your left. Tranq eased your head down until it was resting on your favorite spot: where his chest met his stomach. He slipped a hand under the hem of your shirt because you liked the feel of his calluses against your tummy’s smooth skin, especially when you didn’t feel well.

“Nice and cozy, _mami?_ ” Tranq’s voice vibrated in his chest.

“Yeah, I guess,” you replied.

Tranq could tell changing positions had worsened the pain by the way you had balled your fist into his work shirt. He re-tucked the blanket around you with his free hand.

“Just try to relax, _corazón,_ ” Tranq said.

“Leave the TV on, okay, Hank?” Light bothered you a lot more than sound during your migraines and TV always made for a good distraction.

“Okay, Y/N,” agreed Tranq. “Try to get some rest. Let the medicine do its job. Hank’s here, Hank's here.”

You kept your eyes shut tight. You did your best to focus on something other than how shitty you felt: the sound of your old man’s heartbeat in your ear, the smell of his aftershave, the pattern of his deep, even breathing…

Tranq felt your grip on him loosen. He gently brushed a piece of hair out of your face and saw your features had calmed. He kept up a steady stream of soothing murmurs in Spanish. Few things could get to Tranq like seeing you in pain; he wished he could beat your migraines into submission, the way he handled club business.

 _Law & Order: SVU _wasn’t Tranq’s favorite, but he didn’t change the channel. It was one of your go-to migraine shows because you’d seen all the episodes so many times that you didn’t use up energy trying to focus. He didn’t remember seeing this one before, something about an international adoption gone wrong. Tranq adjusted the volume to hear better in case you woke up and asked what was happening on the show.

An episode and a half later, you still seemed to be asleep. Tranq was waiting for the commercial break to end, eager to see how Olivia Benson would sass the scumbag she was interrogating. Come to think of it, you reminded him of Olivia in ways. An announcer read off the latest specials at Outback Steakhouse. Tranq’s mouth watered.

You were hovering in that odd headspace between awake and asleep when you noticed a grumbling sound. It took you a second to realize where it was coming from. Tranq’s belly gave a little shudder beneath your head. He was looking down at you, his expression sheepish.

“ _Lo siento, mami_ ,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I was really trying not to wake you up, but I guess my _pancita_ had other ideas.”

“It’s okay, _papi.”_ You guessed it had to be past dinnertime.

You felt weak, the way you always did after a migraine. You snuggled closer to Tranq’s soft, warm tummy, listening to it growl. Your hand slid over the layer of muscle nobody would guess was there. Tranq played with your hair, knowing why you didn’t want to move.

“That feels good, Y/N.”

One of Tranq’s little secrets was how much he enjoyed you rubbing his stomach; it could soothe him for a while when he was hungry and damn near put him straight to sleep when he was full.

“You feeling any better after your nap?”

“Not much,” you said.

“You should eat, _corazón.”_ Tranq cupped his hand around your waist. “I can feel your belly grumbling too.”

You groaned a little at the thought. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast and your stomach definitely _was_ empty. It was also unsettled, something you referred to as a migraine hangover.

“I still feel like shit, Hank,” you said.

“I know, but you’ll feel worse if you don’t eat.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m gonna warm up something for me and I’ll bring you whatever you want, okay?”

“Goldfish.” Those salty orange crackers were one of your “safe” post-migraine foods; Tranq even kept emergency bags at his house.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“A tortilla.” You had found out by sheer accident that they did wonders for calming your stomach.

Tranq nodded, just barely raising his eyebrows. You were a grown woman and could do what you wanted, but that didn’t sound like enough food to him.

“I’ll eat something else before bed, Hank,” you promised, knowing what that look meant. “I just need to start small.”

“Okay, Y/N. I’ll be right back.”

Tranq helped you sit up the rest of the way and made sure you had your bearings before he stepped out of the room. You heard him moving around in the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a sandwich, a bowl of Goldfish, and two tortillas he’d heated in the microwave.

“Thanks,” you said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re welcome.”

“Not just for this. I mean, for everything. I know you have your own shit to deal with.”

“You’re my old lady. That means I’ll always take care of you, _corazón.”_ He gestured to the TV. “Looks like Elliott’s about to whoop ass on that _pendejo.”_

“And you tell me you’re not a fan,” you joked, nudging his shoulder with yours.

Tranq chuckled. He started to eat his sandwich one-handed so his other arm was free to put around you, smiling as you let out a happy little sigh.

“ _Te amo,_ Y/N.”

“ _Te amo,_ Hank.”

The other girls could talk all they wanted; you knew you had the best old man in the club.


End file.
